


Lone Wolves at the Party

by Futsin



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Dinners, Friends to Lovers, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Music, Party, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Futsin/pseuds/Futsin
Summary: Laverne tells her daughter the tale of the time her and Lenny had a real good time, that started something special. Part of the Marriageverse.
Relationships: Laverne DeFazio/Lenny Kosnowski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Lone Wolves at the Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



At long last, the oven closed under the pressure of Laverne DeFazio-Kosnowski's hands and it was done. Dinner was cookin' and she rinsed her hands in the sink, wiped down the counters of any stray germs, and took her apron off. She hung it on the hook by the fridge, then fussed over making sure the monogrammed L, a lovely pinetree green letter across a pink-on-biege floral print, was clearly presented. It was the first step in a relaxation habit she took whenever she was able to cook dinner that would leave her with at least a good half-hour to herself.

After finishing in the kitchen, Laverne went to the bookshelf in the living room for the latest book she was reading, another torrid piece of fiction that (of all people) her best friend in the whole wide world had recommended to her. She kept it secreted it away very high on the shelf, next to the boring books her children had no interest in reading and thus wouldn't be suspicious of it. A quick pull of her fingers and the book was back in her hands. She flopped on the couch, kicked her slippers off, then laid her head back on the old Hello Sailor pillow as she found her dog-eared spot in the spicy novel.

Adventure, terror, excitement, romance, sensuality, intrigue, betrayal, sex, the book had it all. Laverne found herself lost in the pirate-vampire tale.

So much so, she didn't realize the door had opened, her daughter had returned home, and Laverne was being watched.

"Mom? Can I talk to you for a second?" Barb's voice was soft yet still emotional as the girl herself was, which meant it was serious. It got Laverne's attention and she did her best Mom Calm look-up-from-the-naughty-thing-I-was-doing, though she may have flailed a little in hiding the book under the Sailor pillow. "What's wrong, hon?" Laverne asked, pulling her feet out and down onto the floor to clear a spot on the couch

The almost-twelve year old sat down next to her, facing forward, and out came the question: "Mom, how do you know you like someone?"

"Like them how? Like, you like like them?"

"Noooo, I mean you LIKE like like them."

Laverne's eyes widened. "Oh, that’s a different thing altogether, sweetie."

Barb frowned. Mother patted daughter's head gently, darkened blonde hair treated like a beautiful floral arrangement. "What's the matter, hanh? Is there somebody you think you like?" Laverne tried to ease the mixture of terror and excitement in her belly at the idea. Barb, so far, had been an emotionally passionate kid, but even at her age it seemed a little strange she hadn't shown the biggest interest in boys. Or anyone, really, outside of the movies or stories she got so engrossed in.

That was when it was a bit of a pleasant surprise to see Barb, after a little bit of fidgeting, look up and say, "well, this boy, Peter? He kinda invited me to go with him to Shannon's birthday party." Laverne nodded. The birthday party was the talk of the crowd at Barb's school. "And what did you say?" the mother asked, having already worked out what order one must question their child when presented with the possibility of them getting into trouble with other kids.

Barb reacted to the tone more than the question, defensively saying, "I didn't say yes!"

Laverne cocked her head. "But you didn't say no."

"No," was the reply, followed by a raising of her head as she looked away. "But I think he's really cute." And there was the dreamy look that Laverne rarely saw in her daughter, unless King Kong was playing on TV or she'd gotten into a really good Bradbury story. Her husband kept saying, with a cheeky smile-come-toothy grin, _'she looks just like you when you think of sailors.'_

"So, let me get this straight," Laverne said, taking the reins on the conversation, "you think he's cute. Does he make you feel safe?" Barb blinked in response. "Is that important? Is that how you know?" Laverne rolled her eyes, unable to hold back the exasperation.

"Of course it is. You like a guy and he doesn't make you feel safe, he's just gonna walk all over ya. You gotta be careful, hon. Finding out you LIKE like like somebody is really exciting. It's an adventure. But-"

"But I don't want to get hurt, I know," Barb said and sighed heavily, same as her father, slumped shoulders and all. "What was it like with dad? When did you know you LIKED liked liked him?"

Laverne felt an uncontainable smile cross her face and she patted Barb's arm. "Y'know what? It took a long time. Even when I knew I was getting used to being around him, it took even longer than that." Her daughter gasped, "you mean I won't find out for years?!"

"No!" the mother blurted, another roll of her eyes. "Sheesh, when you're a kid you think that just a little while is forever." She turned to her daughter, putting a leg up on the couch, so she could face her directly. "You wanna know a story?"  
Barb mirrored the movement, like mother like daughter, and nodded.

"Okay. I can tell you exactly the night I realized I felt safe with your father. And that I liked him. That's where it all started."

"But you didn't LIKE like him."

"Right. That came later."

"So, then, what happened?"

And falling into the clouds of memory from over a decade and a half earlier, Laverne began her tale.

* * * * * * * Some Years Ago * * * * * * *

It wasn't the worst party, nothing like high society's snobby stares or the usual bring-your-own that had lost their shine a while back. But it wasn't that much better either, Laverne thought to herself. There she was on the carpeted steps of Gina DiMarco's parents place, hand on her chin, grumbling. She'd come to the party as a favor to the woman she only knew from work, but not the same kind of work. That was becoming grimly obvious.

While Laverne worked the floor of Shotz Brewery putting on bottlecaps and making sure the Shotz brewery's seal of approval meant something, Gina toiled in the office as secretary to one of the managers. In exchange for a day off on the floor, Laverne filled in a gap in Gina's guestlist, as she didn't have an equal amount of people coming. Even better, the word around the brewery spread that Gina's latest shindig had the intention of being a gathering where those whose tales of class struggle could be heard, as Gina's latest fancy had become politics. It would be talking with people who were interesting enough to not need to make out with later and make your own case about it.

It was the kind of thing Laverne figured that Gina would've asked Shirley about, but somehow, she was deemed fit to join the cool kids. Not only that, she'd get a day off work during a time she desperately needed one.

Thinking it was the deal of a lifetime, Laverne De Fazio jumped at the chance, not even thinking. But what she'd found was a rather dismal affair. The first half hour of being there was Gina fussing over everyone's outfit and tut-tutting in a way that sounded like a compliment, but made you feel like you were being melted by acid afterward. It was followed quickly by Gina telling lots of stories, pairing people up as dates because they "matched" (either by body shape or hair color or some other arbitrary thing that ran through her mind), and generally it being a staged affair. A middle-school school play with a tyrannical director looked like a smooth, amiable production by comparison. If the host had a costume department, she would have redressed everyone.

Worse, she realized despite Gina promising to invite everyone they knew, it turned out to mean everyone Gina knew. There wasn't anyone Laverne could put a name to, a face on, or carry a conversation with. Except for Lenny Kosnowski, the beer truck driver, childhood friend, and all-around clown. He was sans Squiggy, which surprised Laverne at first, until she heard Gina start talking about "That _boy_ Andrew," in a tone of voice that actually made her feel sorry for Squig. Since the boys had moved into the same building that Laverne shared with her best friend Shirley, she'd come to realize they weren't all that bad. Well, a little bad.

That sympathy deepened and also caved, when Gina's gaze landed on Lenny and Laverne (who had not been paired with a "companion" for the evening's activities, toasts, dinner, yadda-yadda), and realized their similarity in height. "You two!" She said, using two fingers to point. Both of them gave a deer-in-headlights glance at each other, cringed in their own way, while Gina bubbled with enthusiasm. 

"I bet you can share so many stories together," she cried! 

Lenny grumbled, "Yeah, not all great ones." 

And Laverne muttered, "Too many stories." 

Their host ignored them, set them up with drinks in the kitchen - "Actual wine! Can you imagine? We're big time now!" - and thrust the newly-minted pair into the living room. Which Gina insisted on calling a parlor, even though it made Laverne nearly choke to hold back her scoff. To her credit, she merely cleared her throat.

As people asked about Laverne and Lenny, their history and what oddities they'd experienced together, they made as non-commital replies as possible. When listening to their fellow party guests, they tried to listen and nod the best they could. Being there was officially, and completely, a bore.  
And as Laverne expected, she found herself feeling hollow as the other people around her talked about their accomplishments with that eau du smug. It was thrilling to hear about one of them getting into making "pictures" only to realize they were talking about setting up a photography studio for family portraits and picture framing, and Laverne's face fell instantly. She saw Lenny trying to talk to a glamorous brunette, then figured out she'd rather gush about her latest dress she'd bought because it was _'just so kitsch!'_. 

After those "conversations," it became clear to Laverne that Gina was the kind of person who collected other people's boring stories, reshaped them into her own terrible stories, to sell back to everyone as if they were somehow better because she'd touched them. That, Laverne thought, was why the shindig and the push for "we're going to take our power back from the higher ups." Because probably she'd read about revolutions in Life magazine, inspiring her latest soiree melting pot of lifetimes and exaggerated memories. This wasn't about people uniting in solidarity, it was another show for the meek office worker who got to play big on the weekends. The falseness of it made Laverne feel a little ill, so she went for the stairs, finishing her wine in a big gulp to have the cover that she'd drunk too fast.

A few minutes after she landed her keister on the step, she looked back on the past hour and a half. One big sigh came up from the depths of her lungs and heart, then out the mouth like a gasp of desperation. Shirley hadn't been invited and had been incredibly put off by it, but as much as Laverne wondered if maybe her best friend would enjoy the party, she was glad the poor kid wasn't getting exposed to its sham. She felt real lonely then. Maybe another drink would help.

Before she could notice him, Lenny walked over to her and sat down by her side. "God," he whispered, quieter than she'd ever heard him before, "These people are crazy, Laverne. What are we gonna do?" She did a doubletake. "What're you asking me for? You can leave anytime, cuz you're the _One Wolf_." She grinned and he smirked back. He nodded at a stout man talking to his date about his latest trip to Chicago and doing his Edward G. Robinson impersonation. It was awful, but it gave Lenny a sensible chuckle. "Bet you this'd be a better party if Capone over there was running it." He reverted back to his usual self, a nine year old boy in a young man's body, his arms coming up with an invisible tommy gun, his mouth making the ehk-ehk-ehk-ehk-ehnch! noises. 

Laverne had to laugh. "I'm just waiting for the satanic cult meeting to begin." At that, Lenny's eyes lit up. "Oh! Like in that movie that was on last week. You watch those, right? The late night pictures? They were playing uh-" he snapped his fingers, trying to remember, then he got the snap just right. "The Seventh Victim!" Her eyes lit up and she felt warm, something she could actually talk about. "I missed that, Shirl and I went out on a date that night. How was it?" She'd read about it in a movie magazine, one of those classy ones, and it sounded good.  
Lenny grinned. "Ah, it was great, it was real scary." He sighed. "Could use a monster, though. Movies are always better with monsters in them. The girl was mighty pretty, though." Laverne rolled her eyes. "I can agree with the first part," she replied. 

And then Gina started tapping her wine glass with a fork in that absolutely ridiculous way they did on TV, causing the two lonely ones on the steps to look up. "Oof, speaking of monsters..." Laverne muttered and Lenny, hearing her, snickered. They stood up and rejoined everyone in the living room. 

The host put on a record, some advant garde jazz album that probably had been recorded in someone's private studio, and was trying to get everyone to dance. Dancing to arrthymic, staccato beats and improvisational blasts of brass. Those who had bought into Gina's game enjoyed themselves, with fake-it-till-it's-real smiles, while others tried but failed to match the terrible rhythm. The band, someone Gina claimed were "real big back east," was terrible. As the rest of the night had been, orchestrated was the word, and no one opposed the host. Especially when she began to screech about being careful of the wine, her mother's aunt's cousin's rug on the floor, and chided anyone who wasn't dancing enthusiastically.

Laverne and Lenny looked at them all and then at eachother with a shared look of 'you have to be kidding me.' Gina walked away from the record player, causing Lenny to make a beeline for it. Laverne followed curiously, finding he was going through the nearby collection of records in the cabinet upon which the player sat. First, of course, he had to set them up right, on their side and not flat on the ground. "What the hell is that woman thinking?" he grumbled, soothing the albums with gentle caresses before flipping through them. 

Laverne couldn't help but smile, crossing her arms over her purple dress. She'd never seen him so careful and gentle with anything before. Or seen him so quietly indignant. "She can't be serious. Who wants to dance to this stuff? And there's no edge, no kick, no swing. Where's anything you can jam to? Elvis, at least? Everybody's gotta have one Elvis record. This collection is all garbage. Ah, finally, there we go." He grabbed a Ritchie Velens 78 out and almost had the abomination of American jazz turned off, when Gina came barreling in on them both. "Lenny! You put that down, that is my _brother's_ album, I don't even know why he has that." She took it in her hands like it was a bag of garbage, then took it into the kitchen, putting it unceremoniously in a different cabinet. 

Lenny was heartbroken. Laverne patted his shoulder. "There, there." 

Gina returned, she looked at them both, realizing that perhaps their proximity was causing a problem, that their _influence_ was too much. Laverne read that immediately, as she remembered that look on a dozen teachers through high school that had tried to keep her and Shirley apart, or more often Lenny and Squiggy apart (likely due to a pyrotechnic concern or obnoxiously musical distraction).

When their host asked them to mingle, hissing a separately under her breath, Laverne and Lenny shrugged. Their host was happy with their "okay," then went back to entertaining a particularly bland-looking man in a sweater whose beard was trying to attempt a beatnik persona to match the hideous malformation of jazz on the record player. 

The two friends, childhood/school acquaintances, "pals from work," whatever they could be called at that moment, exchanged one last glance the other's way. Their eyes did not meet, as they sought only the familiarity of one another's presence in this world of people pretending to be interesting.

They put a more leisurely effort into listening to other people's conversations, rather than speaking directly to them as if they were interested in their auto assembly jobs (and the great significance of fiberglass) or their beautician school training. In doing so, they heard tales of the mundane that somehow attempted grandiosity. 

The deals at a particular market were made into great quests, but Laverne couldn't care less about it, as the brand of peanut butter they tried to hook her in with was the kind that made her mouth hurt. One's daily hygiene routine became a war story and Lenny rolled his eyes when a debate about hair cream broke out in front of him.

Ten minutes later, Laverne went for another glass of wine, downed it in a big gulp, then went looking for Lenny. The last three people she'd tried to listen to had made her realize that her humble life still included something more than these people who tried to make their worlds so much bigger, just so you'd worship them for a couple of seconds. When she found the only person there worth talking to (and that was saying something when it came to Leonard Kosnowski, Laverne thought), he was sitting on the stairs again, his eyes lighting up when she arrived. 

That night, he was different enough that she could recognize Lenny, but a Lenny in a different light. His voice was softer, mostly because every time he'd talk in that affected loudmouth way he got stared at, and he seemed to be looking at the world more. The only thing that made any sense about it was the absence of Squiggy, but even then, maybe it was just the environment. Or he was trying to impress Gina. She couldn't tell.

She, on the other hand, didn't feel much like herself. It made sitting next to him feel easier. What was she doing, she wondered, coming impulsively to this party because it sounded like a bargain and realizing that no bargain was coming. A day off from work wasn't worth being subjected to these shallow wannabes. She leaned back on her hands and sighed. Lenny smiled a little at her.

"This party stinks," he said.

She chuckled. "I ain't so fond of it either."

He held out his own refilled glass of wine. "To crappy parties." She grinned and clinked her empty glass to it. He noticed the lack of liquid in there. "Where's your wine?" She shook her head, regretted it immediately, and said, "I needed an excuse to be here on the stairs, so I drank it too fast. Ohh, I hate myself already." He gave one of his own signature laughs and despite herself, she felt happy hearing it. It was honest in a way nobody else around them was. 

"Bet this isn't as bad as that society party you and Shirl went to," he drank his wine, a big gulp, and Laverne could tell he was thinking about the other part of the story he'd probably heard. The one about them leaving in their underclothes are a wild misunderstanding. Hell, that'd be the kind of story that'd scandalize a boring crowd like the one at Gina's.

She shook her head, thinking back on that night that had already been a couple of years back. "I don't know. They were jerks, but they were themselves, y'know? Everybody around here is a fake." He looked at her suddenly, cocked grin, and exclaimed, "except us!" She nodded. "I don't mean no offense, Lenny, but, this isn't exactly how I thought I'd be spending tonight." 

Not at all put off, he shrugged, gave a little sigh, and leaned his head out in that awkward, eh kind of way, that said he was feeling uncomfortable. "No offense, neither, I didn't think tonight'd be this bad, too. And if that record gets put on one more time, I'm gonna break that whole stack of crap over somebody's head." She couldn't argue with that.

"But, you know," she went on, "you're the best thing here. I did this as a favor, because I thought I'd get a day off and get to go to a party. Real bargain, right?" Lenny nodded, listening, and she was surprised how for once he was just listening. The people he had talked to in the twenty minutes they'd been apart must have made her boring numbskulls look like Eleanor Roosevelt. So, she went on. "Now, it's just like feeling used. Same way when you go on a date and some guy just wants to get in your pants without even knowing your name." She checked on Lenny again, he was still looking, listening. He nodded, though she didn't know if he understood or even could. 

"At least I can look at you and not feel like a big embarrassment." 

At that, he swallowed, turned away to have another sip of his wine, and then seemed to be working up his courgage about something. Preparing for it to be some kind of proposal for a crude act or ridiculous like a dance, Laverne turned away, staring at her feet on the green carpet above hardwood stairs. She pushed a toe of her shoe to make it creak.

"What does it feel like, then? When you look at me?" He was blushing, really hard, red as a fire hydrant, and Laverne's toothy grin could not be contained. Her reply was, "I think it feels familiar. I can smell the bottlin' plant on your clothes and I can even appreciate that greasy hair that I can't imagine you'd ever shower enough to get rid of." She laughed.

"You hate my greasy hair." He sipped his wine, pouting. 

When the tear of Gina's laugh came through from the living room again, they both cringed. A rumble rose in her voice after that. "Yeah, but it's the only familiar thing in this room full of boring, horrible people that I want to stab with ice picks."

"Laverne!"  
"Okay, okay, I'll poke'em with spoons."  
"No, I mean, I can go check in the kitchen for the ice picks. I'll be right back."  
"Lenny!"  
"What?"

Laverne smiled again and next time he looked her way, she was waiting for him with eye contact. "Let's dance." He chuckled again, but shook his head. "What?" His response was that same shrill pitch she'd known since the second grade. 

She placed her wine glass a few steps above them and stood on the stairs. "We can have our own party, right here, and show these chumps what it means to really be Cool." She extended her hand. "And if Gina kicks us out, so what?" The wine had really kicked in and loosened her up, five glasses she now realized. She'd gone through three of them to get over the fact she didn't know anybody else when she got there. So long as she was honest with herself, which seemed to bring a lot of other emotions and ideas to the fore, what could go wrong?

Lenny finished his own wine, burped, then took her hand while standing up. "We gonna dance to that crappy music from over there?" 

She shook her head. "No, dance to whatever you want." Incredulity marred his expression, so she clarified, "Just imagine a song, one you know by heart." 

With that, she started to move her body, swaying her hips, twisting her feet. The stairs were big enough to let herself move and shift on the step, but mostly she swung her arms in the air. Lenny got the idea. He followed in a twist, shake, then matched her moves. Not a slow dance, but a free one. He was all over the place in seconds. It made Laverne smile, but not laugh, because at last she was having fun, as a record swirled in her mind, playing at her heart's RPM, sending her memories of melody and beat and rhythm into her soul. 

She swished her dress and Lenny shook his jacket out. They made eye contact and he was aglow, happier than she'd seen him all night (and in quite a while, she realized later). "What're you dancing to?" she asked. "Rockin' Robin," Lenny replied, moving to the beat in his own little world. She nodded with a sly grin. "Nice." 

They kept on. She didn't tell him and he didn't ask what she was playing for herself. Every once in a while, they'd dance a move that made the other smile or laugh, which became a game quickly that was all their own. When he found a part of his stair step that creaked, he paused to do a dance move in and out of it, to the beat of Rockin' Robin, and Laverne had to stop and cover her mouth to keep from busting up.

The two were lost in their own little world another couple of minutes, until they heard someone laugh loud enough for it to carry through the living room, foyer, and even down into the kitchen where Gina was restocking plates with hors d'oeuvres from the fridge. That was the moment that Laverne felt herself start to lose balance. 

Immediately, Lenny noticed and reached out to grab her waist as she started to slide toward the downward direction of the stairs. "Whoa!" he cried, "got you, that's it. C'mon, let's uh, hah, get you on down, eh?" He helped her down the few steps so she could sit and she giggled. The game, the foible, it was all childish, but it was cozier and more fun than anything she'd had that night. 

At the noise of them on the steps, Gina came in from the kitchen and saw Laverne sitting there. The host frowned immediately and that face stuck. "My goodness, are you all right?" Laverne grunted. "Eh, little too much wine too fast, but I'm all right."   
It was a lie, she was fine if not a little buzzed, but it was a bad enough scene that the alcohol made a decent cover. Lenny patted her head and smoothed her hair. "Yeah, you're good, it's all good, isn't it?" He smiled at Gina, who he clearly had wanted at a shot at but with Laverne on the stairs and his left hand still on her shoulder, that chance had gone down like a lead balloon. 

Lenny instead smiled at their host. "Good party, eh? Great!" His verbal volume went up again, nervous. It made Laverne's ears reverb like a music hall with the amplifiers turned up too high.

Gina took Laverne's hand. "I'll call you cab, Laverne."

"Nah, that's all right," Lenny interjected, "I can give her a ride." Laverne shook her head, sobered by the very idea, and pulled herself from both of them, standing up on her own two feet. 

"Lenny, no, that's okay. You don't gotta do that." He rambled on insistently and she was grabbing her coat while he was still shouting. Gina was going for the phone and yelling, and the partygoers were watching the weird scene with only a moment's regard before going back to their happy sense of droll ignorance. That, Laverne felt, was merciful. But she grabbed her coat as fast as she could while Lenny was continuing to talk and Gina was calling the cab company, and out the door Laverne went.

She was a block away when she heard Lenny calling after her. Something about it felt humiliating, sad, and she hid her face as long as she could, hurried, until the next crosswalk kept her staying put as cars zoomed on past. When he caught up to her, he was carrying her purse. "You forgot this," he said, eyes full of concern. She reached out and took it, sniffled. "Thanks." He cocked his head. "Are you okay?" She nodded. 

Her voice found itself again and she rumbled again. "Stupid party. Gina's mad and I won't get my day off, but what of it. It was a dumb party with dumb jerks, that make real society parties look like a comfortable Sunday picnic." He nodded in reply, eyes never leaving her face. She turned and paced the curbside as she went on, cars continuing to pass. They could hear the sounds of the city now, blaring. 

She talked louder. "I can't believe I even did any of that, Lenny! What the hell was I thinking?!" 

He nodded again. Didn't shrug, didn't say anything, just nodded. She noticed. "Why ain't you trying to make me feel bad, and shrug it off, or trying to invite me back to your place? What are you even doing here, Lenny?" Her anger was directing at him, causing guilt to rise in her throat, but she stayed fuming best she could.

To her surprise, emotionally sensitive Leonard Kosnowski didn't react. He only stared and nodded. She stopped pacing, a few steps from him.

"What are you doing, Lenny?" Her voice came down in a whisper.

"I was having fun," he said at last. Quiet. "And I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I mean, Laverne, you gotta admit, someone like Gina DiMarco asks someone like Lenny Kosnowski to a party, he's gotta feel like on cloud nine." Laverne couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, and you paid the price for it," she smirked. 

With no change to his soft, listening expression, he bluntly replied: "No, I just found something better."

Laverne had to look him in the eyes and wondered distantly if she was dreaming. Not because he'd said it, the big dope had clearly had a thing for her for years, but because she didn't want to blow him off again or help him land gently. This was the part she was supposeda tell him no, right? Why didn't she want to?"

A second later, Lenny went on. "I had fun with you, Laverne. I miss that kinda fun." People were starting to pass them on the street, so she came closer. "Yeah?" She asked, needing to hear it again, wanting to hear it again.

It surprised her, that feeling, but this wasn't the Lenny who'd pranked her and stolen kisses in school, the guy who had a way of following Squiggy who appeared in their apartment or the Pizza Bowl or the Shotz Brewery break room every time she or Shirley had said something about being made sick or feeling desperate. This was the Lenny she always kinda wondered was maybe buried deep down. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, well, you know how to cut a rug on the stair, y'know? Didn't even need scissors or nothin'." 

The stupid joke made her laugh and she had to admit, she had fun doing that. Being stupid, open, making one's own good time. And Lenny had not only gone with it, but fed it, like putting more quarters into a long distance call to keep it going.

"I had fun, too." The words were out before she could process agreeing with him.

That's when she knew they needed to go, but, as much as she wanted to just take the bus, they were going back to the same building anyway. "Offer for a ride still open, Len?" At that, he smiled, pearly whites she was amazed he had for all the rest of his hygiene. _Must be for the kissing he barely ever gets,_ she thought. "Anytime, Laverne." There was, for the first time, no drip of ulterior motive, no aftertaste of sleaze, and no ignorant blab. 

He did, however, bite his fist as she went along toward the truck first, which she heard in the way he hissed a little and his wet mouth made a pop when he pulled his hand back.

Lenny drove her home. They talked about the night and compared stories of the horrible conversations they had to put up with. Each had the indignities of their own events being warped by the malicious snobbery or turned into something surrealistically pedestrian, so someone else's anecdote could sound superior. 

At the end of the ride, Laverne had decided it wasn't the worst party she'd been to, but it was certainly the damned weirdest one she'd ever attended. "Guess it makes sense we were the only two sane ones in the corner," she said to Lenny as he turned onto their street. 

"Those people don't know how to have fun," he said, "they didn't even have good snacks! Did you see the crap Gina was putting on those platters? I daren't look a cracker in the eye the same way ever again."

It was then, feeling mirth in her heart again at his behest, that she made a decision. She'd looked before she leapt this time, thought about it in the twenty minutes to get across town. "Say, Len, I don't want you to uh, take this the wrong way or nothin', but..." she started. He glanced at her.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we should spend more time together. Just uh, y'know. Us. Two. You know."

She saw that look in his eyes and rolled her own doors to the soul. It softened him, though. "Yeah. I'd like that. Say, you like movies, right?" She nodded. "There's a really good one a buddy of mine said's gonna be on next Tuesday night." 

Her face fell. "I got bowling that night." His face fell, too. "Oh," he said, "what about Thursday? They're playing 20 Million Miles To Earth at the Princess Theater on 3rd." At that, she lit back up. "Oh! That's the one with that monster from Venus, ain't it? And the coliseum?" He grinned, nodded. It wasn't a date, at least they didn't dare call it that.

By the time they got back, it had started to rain, making them run into the apartment building side by side. He held the door for her, another surprise, but Fonzie had probably taught him that. Lenny clearly felt pretty cool that night. 

For that, impulsively, perhaps just to make the evening that little bit better than it had any right to be, she didn't move when she saw him move to kiss her cheek. No one was around to see it anyway. It was like every surprise she'd seen from him the entire evening; softer than she expected. He didn't squish her the way some dates had, making her feel like she had hollow cheeks and was a chipmunk.

She went down into her lower level and he was practically running up the stairs. There was something perfectly 14 year old about it that made her grin as she knocked on the door, heard Shirely clamber for the baseball bat before saying "who is it?", and then got back into her own world again.

* * * * * * * Some Years Later * * * * * * *

Barb's eyes were wide, attentive, and listening. "Wow. You had no idea then... did you?"

"Nah," her mother said, blushing at the memories that came after. "But that's the whole thing, that night mattered. I didn't know, he didn't know... and we didn't worry about it. It's like how when you get to the end of a good story, everything before it makes sense, right? But if you just skip to the end or if you expect something too specific, it doesn't go how you think it will."

Once more, Barbara nodded as she listened intently. Laverne smiled at her success in telling her daughter a tale that kept her interest and somehow avoiding any unnecessary questions. And it was just as the story was wrapping up that the door had opened and father and son and youngest daughter came home. Lenny helped little Billie with her jacket, while Andy smelled the air and smiled.

"What's cookin'?" he asked and his pop grinned, while little Wilhemina fussed about being fussed over.

"Smells like your mother made one of her best roast chicken dishes. Isn't that right, Mrs. Kosnowski?" His eyes found her face peering over the couch

Laverne smiled back at her husband. "Very good, Mr. Kosnowski."

As she moved to rise from the couch, Barb put a hand on her arm. "Mom? The book?" she whispered, then gestured under the pillow. Busted in one way, almost busted in another, Laverne mouthed thank you and grabbed her spicy novel to put away. When her lurid pulp was secreted away, she came back to Barb and gave the sitting girl a hug. "So what do you think, hanh? Give it some time?"

Barb nodded. "Yeah. I get it now. Thanks, mom."

The egg timer on the oven went ring-a-ding'ing just as the mother and daughter went to greet the rest of the family, signaling it was time to check on dinner. "I got it!" Lenny exclaimed, making his way for the kitchen, scooting by Laverne but getting a quick kiss from her as he went by. He blushed a little at the way she was looking at him, questioning in his glance back. She winked, without saying anything for fear of the children's ears knowing her real thoughts.

"Barb, help me set the table. Andy, you and your sister go wash your hands." She flew back into Mom mode, organizing the chaos of their family, her tone deepening to echo her father and his mother before him.

A few minutes later, Lenny was serving the cuts of meat to the family one by one in the kitchen. When it was Barb's turn, she smiled and said, "good cut, dad. But can you still cut a rug?" At first the question puzzled him, but when he looked at his wife for a clarifying anything, she danced in place, the same way she had on those stairs all those years ago, to what was clearly the rhythm of Rockin' Robin. "Tweet tweet," she even said, getting a giggle out of Billie in the process.

After containing a blush across his face, full of warmth at the memory, Lenny grinned and turned back to Barb. "Yeah, I can still get around." He gave a wiggle of his hips, a bob of his head, dancing to a tune in his mind. That got melodius laughter out of his two daughters. "Which one's that?" Barb asked.

"Oh that's one of me and uncle Squig's. Night After Night. " Immediately Laverne was shaking her head and going, "nooo! No no no! Not that one." She was by his side in a second. Her hands plucked the cutlery from his and she got him a piece of the chicken. "Get the salad outta the fridge, Len."

The father and husband danced his way to the fridge while humming another of his tunes, catching his wife and mother of his children's eye. She smiled, he smiled, and they danced to their own tune. Following suit was little Billie, who nudged Barb to do the same. "I like it when they dance," Billie said, grinning at her sister and Barb agreed.

Son Andy, on the other hand, watched the rest of the family get their dinner while bobbing their heads, throwing their heads around, and rocking their shoulders. "Why are we dancing?" Laverne grinned back and Lenny piped in, "C'mon, son, it's how your mother and I got together! Two Lone Wolves, dancing to our own tune!" And at that, Andy rolled his eyes, but took his plate of chicken and salad. "You can't pluralize Lone Wolf, dad, that doesn't make sense."

The family settled in for dinner and ate peacefully, while occasionally Lenny and Laverne threw little smiles at one another. Mother noticed eldest daughter spotting them, which led to her giving a knowing wink.

When the kids were off to bed and Lenny was doing the dishes, Laverne came up to him from behind and put her hands around his waist, leaning in to him like a excitable twenty-something and her best guy. "Hey," she whispered in his ear, "Barb was askin' how you know you like somebody."

"Like like somebody or LIKE like like somebody?" he inquired.

"LIKE like like somebody."

"Oh, that's a different thing altogether," Lenny said, continuing to rinse dishes as his wife clung to him. He set the plates to dry in the dishrack one by one, in a neat row. Laverne smiled at how domestic he'd become since those times of their youth. "What'd you tell her?" he asked and she hummed against him, her breasts and tummy vibrating on his back.

"I told her about Gina DiMarco's party."

Lenny grinned and leaned over at her face across his shoulder. "Yeah?" She nodded, then kissed his lips in a soft pip. "Yeah."

"We never did thank Gina for pairing us together," he said and she squeezed her arms around his belly. "I don't think we need to. We woulda ended up together anyway. You always kept busting into the apartment downstairs no matter what."

A little shrug of his shoulders and he dried his hands, turning around to embrace Laverne in his arms. "What makes you so sure? What if I was just followin' Squig because that's what I always did?" But he knew she knew he was fibbin' a little bit. Ever since they were young, younger than they had been at Gina's party, he wanted her in a hundred different ways and she'd known he was crazy about her in a way that was different than how crazy he was for all the other girls back then.

So she kissed him again and said, "It can take time to realize you LIKE like like somebody... but you always know when somebody LIKE like likes you."

In reply, Len swayed her and him, humming a tune. She closed her eyes and let him lead their dance in the kitchen, in the still of the night.

They talked of what Barb had asked, while Lenny filled Laverne in on how Andy's collaborative science project was coming along and how Billie's Little League practice went. When they went to bed that night, though, they almost-danced their way out of their clothes, then into their pajamas. The songs of a different time played in their minds till both were under the covers. Their fingers stepped on one another's bodies to the beat and rhythm and melody of a playlist that spanned their life together, from childhood to adulthood to marriage and parenthood. No love needed to be made, for it was felt in every move and step, every glance and smile.


End file.
